


A Blade in the Back

by AvoidingAverage



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jaskier can fight, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mind Control, Temporary Amnesia, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvoidingAverage/pseuds/AvoidingAverage
Summary: There was a flicker of movement at his side and he felt something slam into his unprotected flank.  Magic blew past him, ruffling his hair but leaving him unharmed. Surprised by the sudden attack, Geralt stumbled and whirled to face whoever had hit him.Only instead of a beast, he saw a bard.Jaskier clutched at his chest where a dark stain seemed to spread over his heart.  His bright eyes stared at Geralt helplessly, mouth opening and closing without sound.  Geralt stared back at him in shock until Jaskier dropped heavily to his knees, collapsing like a puppet with his strings cut.___________In the midst of a battle, Jaskier is hit with an unknown curse.  All at once Geralt finds himself locked in battle with the only man he wants to protect.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 54
Kudos: 2784





	A Blade in the Back

**Author's Note:**

> Alright y'all, I cannot seem to stop writing these angsty moments with these sweet boys. This started out as fluff, I swear.
> 
> Also, this fandom is by far the most supportive, wonderful group of readers I've ever had the pleasure of working with. Thank you for taking the time to read my silly little stories. :)

The undignified shirek of outrage could be heard over the sounds of the barghest’s roars of fury and the noise of the mage’s battle thundering through the castle. Geralt tried not to sigh.

“What the  _ hell _ , you bastard? Why would you break my lute?” Jaskier’s voice was more furious than Geralt had ever heard it. It was also coming from exactly the location Geralt had told him to stay away from--the castle. “I swear, I will gut you myself and use your hide to line an outhouse seat! Take  _ that _ , you uncultured swine!”

The lute made a hollow, discordant sound as it was used to bash against the head of a smaller barghest that had the bard cornered against the remains of the bailey’s wall. In his hands he was brandishing the small dagger Geralt had given him and the handle of his lute, now dangling from only a few strings. Temper had flushed his cheeks a bright red that made Geralt’s body react instinctively to a sight usually found after a long night of pleasure.

“Son of a bitch,” Jaskier swore as the creature took a swipe at him that forced him to dance out of range, “overgrown mutt. I hope you aren’t allergic to nuts because I’m about to kick yours up your throat.”

Shoulders shaking with laughter--and when had  _ that _ become something Geralt was capable of mid-battle--the Witcher threw off the barghest he’d been fighting and made his way to Jaskier’s side. The bard didn’t even notice him until he’d snatched the beast away, neatly slitting its throat in the process, and whirled to face him, knife extended. The fierce determination in his expression should not be so attractive to the Witcher, but he couldn’t stop the feral smile from spreading across his face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at camp with Roach?”

Jaskier’s lower lip extended in a dramatic pout that sat oddly against the spray of blood on his cheek. “I’m not some useless damsel that has to stay back at camp!”

Geralt arched an eyebrow.

“And you took Yennefer with you! Yennefer! The mage who tried to  _ kill _ me!” The bard threw up his hands in a dramatic flourish. “She doesn’t even try to watch your back.”

“I’m a Witcher,” Geralt rumbled, enjoying the way the sound made Jaskier’s eyes go dark, “I watch my own back.”

“Yes, well, I’d happen to like your...back to remain in one piece.” The statement was made with a lecherous waggle of his dark eyebrows that made Geralt want to roll his eyes.

The Witcher scanned the area around them out of habit. The barghest were nearly all dead now, by his count, which meant they only needed to dispatch the mage who’d summoned them to finish this job. The call from the villagers had been a unique one--dispatch the mage who’d taken up shop in the old castle to the east who was attempting to force the region under her control using the barghest she’d summoned. The amount of power needed to pull so many beasts to her call had been enough to bring Yennefer out of her usual plotting and questing. They’d agreed to an uneasy truce so long as it took to bring the mage to heel, tempered by the awkwardness left behind by their fight after the dragon hunt.

Everything had gone according to their plan. The mage had summoned her beasts to the castle as soon as she’d heard they were coming--making it easier for Geralt to kill the pack without endangering the villagers. Yennefer had used the distraction as an opening to seek out the mage herself within the old stone walls. Even now, Geralt could hear the noises of their battle edging closer.

Which left the intrepid bard and his silly looking lute.

Geralt sighed and flicked a piece of barghest fur off his shoulder, considering his options. It was too late to send Jaskier back. He couldn’t risk a stray barghest deciding to hunt easier prey. Nor could he assume that Jaskier would listen to the order. The little bard seemed perilously unaware of his own mortality and would run headlong into danger for the thrill of it and the insane belief that he could keep Geralt safe. Even in his exasperation, he couldn’t help the furl of warmth in his chest at the thought of someone fighting to protect him.

“Come on then,” he grunted and Jaskier did a little dance of delight at the prospect.

Fuck, he was going to regret this.

“I knew you’d see sense eventually, Witcher,” Jaskier said affectionately. He looked down at his lute and scowled before slinging it onto his back by its strap. “This mage has truly terrible taste in minions. No sense of dramatics, nor appreciation for the arts. If I were going to take over a region, I think I’d use a succubus, you know? That way when the people gave in, at least it’d be enjoyable, right? Might even partake myse--”

Whatever nonsense he would’ve said next was cut off when the wall ahead of them exploded with a wave of white hot heat and power. 

Geralt twisted to curl himself over the smaller man to protect him from the blast and watched Yennefer roll free from the wreckage to get to her feet. Blood trickled from a wound on her hairline and she looked murderous at the woman stepping free from the building to face her. Unlike Yennefer’s daring deep purple gown cut to accentuate each of her ample curves, the other mage was in simple black robes that matched the alpha barghest at her side. The massive beast paced like a faithful pet at her heels, drool dripping from wickedly sharp teeth.

The appearance of the alpha barghest answered the question as to how the mage had managed to control the pack so easily. Barghest were simple enough, in that manner. The pack’s alpha were their greatest strength and their biggest weakness. Kill the alpha and the rest would be little more than a pack of large, ugly wolves. 

“What do you think rhymes with barghest?” Jaskier muttered to himself. “Feast? Yeast? How the fuck could I work yeast into a rhyme?”

Ignoring him, he let his own limited magics flare to life and rushed forward to meet the barghest before he could circle round and attack Yennefer while she was distracted. Claws raked through the air at him, but he rolled and came up with a swing that sliced through the beast’s hamstrings. It roared in rage and pain, but he didn’t allow himself to pause. Ducking another wild swing, he reversed his hold on his blade and sank it deep into the beast’s gut. He stared into red eyes that slowly went dull and twisted his sword viciously one last time before stepping free.

The quick battle had brought him within attacking distance of the mage. This close, he could see the sweat trickling down her neck and the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she sucked in air. Yennefer sent another blast toward her and she barely managed to get a shield up in time before it went through her skull. She was losing ground, and quickly.

Geralt brought his sword into position and watched the mage send a wave of boiling air toward Yennefer who flicked it away with a complicated gesture. Judging from the annoyance on Yennefer’s face, it wouldn’t be long before the mage found herself on the end of a particularly vicious spell. No common witch could stand against a mage of Aretuza for long. He could see the understanding on her face as Geralt moved closer, ready to finish her off should the opportunity present itself.

He watched her eyes narrow in desperation and her mouth open to shape a new world in Elder. There was a moment where he considered what a truly desperate woman would do to save her life when her gaze landed on him. Her eyes widened slightly--in fear or surprise, he couldn’t tell--because she was raising her hands once more.

Geralt felt the power brewing like the beginning of a storm. Too close for him to block or dodge. Yennefer shouted something to his left and the mage jerked as though struck by some invisible hand.

But it was already too late.

He prepared himself for pain, for the blow of power surging through his body. Whatever spell the mage had crafted had been the last ditch attack of a cornered creature and Geralt knew what kind of violence a trapped beast was capable of.

Geralt raised his sword, hoping to limit the blow with the warded metal of his blade. He spared a brief thought to grieve for the pain Jaskier would feel for his passing, but did not falter. All Witchers knew the fate of their kind. One day they would be too slow, too weak, and their life of struggle would end. At least...at least he would not go alone into the great abyss…

There was a flicker of movement at his side and he felt something slam into his unprotected flank. Magic blew past him, ruffling his hair but leaving him unharmed. Surprised by the sudden attack, Geralt stumbled and whirled to face whoever had hit him. 

Only instead of a beast, he saw a bard.

Jaskier clutched at his chest where a dark stain seemed to spread over his heart. His bright eyes stared at Geralt helplessly, mouth opening and closing without sound. Geralt stared back at him in shock until Jaskier dropped heavily to his knees, collapsing like a puppet with his strings cut.

Adrenaline battled with anguish as he shouted some mindless sound of rejection and horror and raced to the fallen man’s side. Jaskier’s hands weakly clutched at him, holding him like he was afraid of slipping away. The stain was spreading to cover the gaudy silk of his chest like tar and Geralt could see it creeping up the veins in his neck into his face.

“Geralt.” The Witcher had never heard the man sound so lost and he tightened his hold on his hand, cradling his head on his lap.

“I’m here. I’m here, Jaskier, I promise.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

The dark lines of the mage’s magic crawled over his cheeks and into his eyes. Jaskier blinked hard, sending tears trailing into his hair. 

“Geralt,” he whispered, “Geralt, I can’t see.”

Heart twisting, Geralt tightened his hold on the bard. “It’s going to be okay. Yennefer is--” He paused to turn and watch Yennefer send a blast of fire and smoke into the mage. For a moment he thought the woman would survive, but Yennefer narrowed her eyes and, with a scream, the other mage disappeared in a cloud of ash. Hope flared, hot and bright in his gut. “--Yennefer took care of the mage. Whatever her spell was, it’ll fade now. Just hold on.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to respond, but the words twisted into a scream of agony. His body spasmed violently, seizing until he fell away from Geralt to arch like a bow pulled taught in the dirt. His eyes rolled back into his skull and Geralt could do nothing but watch with horror as white foam frothed from his mouth.

“ _ Yennefer _ !” Geralt bellowed, panic that should be dulled by his Witcher training roiling in his gut like a wild creature.

Sensing the seriousness in his call, she ran to his side in a swirl of expensive silks and soft perfume. Jaskier writhed in the dirt, his struggles growing weaker as his body began to tire. Geralt’s hands twitched uselessly over him, trying to keep him from hurting himself more. 

“Why isn’t it fading?”

She crouched closer, eyeing the protective fury in the Witcher’s eye for a brief moment before running her hands over the place where the spell had struck. Her eyes went distant, thoughtful. She frowned and Geralt’s fraying patience snapped.

“What’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he getting better?”

“It isn’t--I don’t--” she stopped mid-sentence when Jaskier gave a broken scream and went limp.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hardly dared to breathe, straining his senses to hear the familiar beat of his heart. “ _ Jaskier _ .”

“Geralt, I don’t think…” Yennefer’s voice was strangely gentle in the bitter quiet. Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, but Geralt just shook it off.

“The mage was aiming for me,” he said flatly. “The idiot pushed me out of the way.”

“He...he loved you.”

The words sank into his skin like the sweetest poison, dragging like knives into his skin. 

Jaskier was dead because of him. Jaskier, who had only wanted to make music and convince people that Geralt wasn’t a monster. Jaskier, who had always seen the best in him even when he tried to push him away.

“Please...” he breathed, cradling Jaskier’s head in his arms and brushing away a lock of dark hair.

He wasn’t sure what he would have asked for because in the next moment, Jaskier’s eyes flashed wide open and his chest heaved in a violent breath. Instead of the bright blue of a summer’s sky, they bled black as night and stared sightlessly up at the sky. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, relief making his voice weak and watched the bard’s head slowly turn to look at him. “Jaskier, gods, I thought you were--”

Without reacting to the emotion in the Witcher’s expression, Jaskier reached up with one hand and  _ shoved-- _

Geralt felt the wind whip through his hair before he felt the blow, strong enough to send him flying back to slam into the bailey wall. The air rushed out of him in a whoosh and he coughed, shocked at the speed and strength of the attack. What the fuck?

Moving with liquid grace, Jaskier rose into a crouch to snarl at Yennefer as she watched him with evident surprise. He growled, low in his throat and the mage raised her hands instinctively to defend herself. 

“Don’t!” Geralt snapped at her, getting to his feet with a growl of his own. “Don’t touch him!”

She pursed her lips, every inch of her ready to attack. “Witcher… your friend is not well.”

“No shit.”

Jaskier ignored their exchange. Despite the darkness distorting his eyes, Geralt could feel the moment he returned his attention to the Witcher. The dagger was in his hand in a quick movement that Geralt would have been impressed with if he weren’t suddenly trying to dodge a series of attacks at a speed no human was capable of.

He felt the burn of the blade ripping through the leather protecting his side and the vicious blow to his shoulder that sent fire rippling through his nerves. Ducking low, he launched himself into Jaskier’s middle in an attempt to bring him down. They hit the earth hard enough to jar his teeth. Immediately, Jaskier bucked and fought like a wild creature against his hold.

“Jaskier! It’s me!” Geralt tried to grunt while he struggled to control the bard’s hands before he was stabbed again. “ _ Stop fighting me. _ ”

Where Jaskier was hardly ever silent, the creature beneath him was eerily silent. Even when Geralt managed to clip him in the jaw in an attempt to knock him unconscious, he never made a sound. There was a manic level of determination in his eyes and his face remained twisted in a vicious snarl. There was no sign of the cheerful, clever bard there.

Yennefer moved to crouch at his side and he could feel the power crackling around her like the moment before lightning struck. “He’s been cursed. She must have been trying to force you to attack me like she spelled the barghest to.”

“Why isn’t it stopping if she’s dead?” he grunted and bit back a curse when Jaskier got a hand free and raked his nails down Geralt’s face until blood flowed freely. 

“I’m not sure. I think she anchored the spell to something.”

“Fuck.”

Geralt started to tell her to find the damned thing, but Jaskier twisted in a complicated movement that reversed their positions abruptly. His back hit the ground with a thunk and he immediately had to shift his head to the side to avoid the dagger that sank to its hilt in the earth. Without hesitation, Jaskier pulled it free and twirled it through his fingers in a graceful flash of glinting metal. 

It was an...unfairly attractive skill to use when trying to kill him.

The Witcher bucked his hips to try to unseat the bard, but the man rode out the gesture easily and bat away the right hook to his jaw. Unhampered by the urge to not truly hurt the other, Jaskier was doing far more damage than Geralt would have ever expected. His body moved gracefully away from Geralt’s grasping hands only to slam his fist into his cheekbone in a jarring surge of power. 

Abruptly, the weight on his chest was yanked away and Jaskier was slung across the clearing. Geralt made a panicked sound and whirled on Yennefer who flicked a glare at him, concentration evident. 

“I think I know what she did to him,” she panted and winced when Jaskier hurled himself against her shield. “He’s a Hound--they’re created to hunt whatever beast their master spells them to. They can’t return to their senses until their prey is dead.” Jaskier curled his lip in a silent snarl that settled oddly on his familiar face. He paced the edges of the shield, searching for a weakness. “I think she was trying to take you out of the fight so she could focus on me.”

“How do we stop it?”

There had to be a way. He couldn’t let Jaskier die.

“Well, unless you change your mind on damaging him--” Geralt’s growl was near feral, “--I can keep him here for as long as possible. See if you can find the anchor.”

Geralt started toward the castle, tossing over his shoulder. “What will it look like?”

“Um...small?” Yennefer’s voice was already showing the strain as Geralt’s movement caused Jaskier to slam repeatedly against the barrier.

Fuck.

Geralt raced into the castle and scanned the room. Cobwebs trailed like lace throughout the room. Tarnished white sheets covered shapes of furniture were pockmarked by the ash and rubble from the fight between Yennefer and the mage. He spun in a circle, trying to find something out of place in all the mess that might have been used by the mage for her curse.

Outside, Yennefer shouted with effort and Geralt cursed viciously. He would burn this place to the ground if it would save Jaskier. 

Yanking one of the sheets over to a piece of burning rubble, he fashioned it into a makeshift wick and set about setting the rest of the castle alight. The roar and crackle of the hungry flames made it impossible to hear what was happening outside and Geralt hurried to finish his work so he could get back to the bard. The image of Jaskier’s dark eyes and cold expression was one he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would never forgive himself for being the cause of it.

Thankfully it looked like the old structure was dry and aged enough not to need much help and Geralt raised his arm to ward off the worst of the heat. Sweat trickled down his face and back in cool rivulets and soaking into his undershirt. He turned in a slow circle to ensure there was nothing he missed before running toward the exit and the cooler air outside. 

“Yennefer!” he shouted as he crossed over the threshold and began to look for the mage. “Is he--”

Geralt’s question was cut off with a grunt of surprise when a surprisingly strong body slammed into his and sent him skidding into the earth. They rolled hard, Jaskier’s face a mask of fury and Geralt barely managing to resist the instinct to return the attack. There was no sign of Yennefer anywhere and he could only hope Jaskier hadn’t harmed her during his escape. All he could do now was try to keep from getting killed while the fire did its job.

Twisting under Jaskier’s hold, Geralt pinned his arms to his sides and used his larger size to his advantage. He could feel his body beginning to slow after the battle with the barghest and the unexpected attack by Jaskier. He couldn’t afford to let it lead to a mistake--it could cost them both their lives. They rolled into the still-body of the smoking corpse of the other mage and towards the woods. He tried to keep the bard as far away from the flames as possible, not sure if he would notice the pain under the haze of the spell.

“Jaskier,” he grunted, “you’ve got to fight this.”

Jaskier didn’t respond, just smashed into Geralt’s nose in a headbutt that left them both seeing stars. 

“Geralt!”

Yennefer’s voice was thready with pain somewhere nearby. He glanced in her direction and was rewarded with another rough jab to his abdomen that landed right over the knife wound from earlier. Hissing out a breath, Geralt shook his head to chase away the fuzziness in his vision and curled his legs up under Jaskier so he could kick him off.

“It’s not working!” she called over the roar of fire. “The anchor isn’t in the castle!”

Growling a warning at Jaskier as he began to circle the Witcher like some feral cat, Geralt barely resisted the urge to turn his anger towards the mage. Panic and pain made his body thrum with a confusing mixture of signals at the realization that they may not be able to stop the spell in time to save Jaskier from killing one of them. He knew better than to think Yennefer would sacrifice her own well being for the bard. Soon, he’d be fighting them both.

He looked around in one last desperate sweep and let his gaze rest on the body of the mage they’d been summoned to defeat. 

Of course.

Summoning his strength, Geralt stumbled in the direction of the body only to feel the sharp agony of a knife sinking into his side from behind. He coughed, cursing the pain and the fucking mage that had created this clusterfuck of a situation. Jaskier prowled forward, teeth bared and dagger dripping blood at his side. Geralt turned to face him, hands held out in a placating gesture.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said, “You have to fight the curse, Jaskier. You can’t let it win.”

Jaskier’s head tilted in a purely predatory expression like he was listening to Geralt’s voice. He swayed in place and Geralt felt a flicker of hope surge to life.

Pressing a hand against his wound, Geralt tried to look non threatening. “I’m your friend, Jaskier. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The blade in Jaskier’s hand moved in a slow twist that radiated menace. For the first time in his life, Geralt understood the feeling prey had when facing down a predator.

“Jaskier, please…” he whispered, as close to begging as he’d ever come, “don’t make me do this.”

The bard’s answering smile was the stuff of nightmares.

Gathering his flagging strength, Geralt sprinted towards the body and heard the thunder of footsteps racing after him. His chest heaved in air tinged with smoke and he tried to ignore the urge to cough. When Jaskier came close enough for the Witcher to hear his panting breaths, he doubled back, ducking low and speaking a rough word in Elder that sent Jaskier careening into the earth. 

Wincing at the sound of the impact, Geralt used the moment of respite to brusquely run his hands over the woman’s body for anything that could serve as an anchor. He fumbled over the sash at her weight, tossing aside an empty coin purse. He didn’t have the time to be gentle with the charred body and ignored the sick crack of bone when he pulled open her clenched hands and--

_ There _ .

The smooth glass vial in his hand felt like a miracle. He could feel the faint tingle of magic through his blood covered fingers and he pulled it closer to examine it. All he needed was to break it so the curse would release and--

Geralt roared in pain when a familiar dagger sank deep into the meat of his shoulder. The metal scraped roughly against the bone and fragile tendons. His hands spasmed around the vial and he made a rough sound of denial when it dropped from fingers gone slippery with blood. 

Jaskier’s breath was rough on the back of his neck as the man moved closer to twist the knife until Geralt gasped in pain. Across from them he saw Yennefer stumble into view, the front of her dress bloodied, and raise her hands to cast. 

“No!” he shouted. “Yennefer, don’t!”

She scowled, looking torn while Jaskier yanked the knife free from his shoulder. Geralt tried to keep an eye on her while black spots danced in his vision. “He won’t stop until you’re dead, Witcher!”

With a burst of inhuman strength, Jaskier slammed his hand into the wound on Geralt’s shoulder, sending him to his knees. Geralt turned, trying to drag himself out of range of the already bloodied knife. His fingers searched feverishly through the grass for the vial even as he stared up at the unfamiliar face of the man he would sacrifice everything to save.

“Jaskier,” he said again, voice soft with the knowledge of what would happen next, “this isn’t your fault. It’s not your--”

The knife shined bright with firelight as it arched through the air--

And Geralt’s fingers brushed the smooth surface of the glass vial.

The snap of the glass breaking was smothered by the cry of pain when the knife sank deep into Geralt’s gut. 

He gasped, panting wetly against the burning agony of the attack. Jaskier stumbled mid-motion. Confusion flickered over his face and he shuddered all over like a dog shaking off the rain. Jaskier blinked, shaking hands coming up to his eyes to rub at them like he couldn’t focus.

Geralt smiled slightly, letting himself collapse onto the cool ground. The world felt hazy and far away as ash rained gently against his skin. The pain was fading now and the panic that had kept him moving before had been replaced with a bone deep weariness. Jaskier was safe. Yennefer would take care of him even if Geralt could not.

It was enough.

“G--Geralt?” The scared voice made him twitch and his eyelids flutter in a valiant attempt to look up at him. “Oh gods,  _ Geralt _ .”

Suddenly, Jaskier was there. Whole and blessedly in control of himself once again. His blue eyes scanned over Geralt’s bloodied form with a sick sort of understanding. He swallowed hard and Geralt watched his hands clench at his sides.

“Oh Melitele,  _ I _ did this. I did this to you,” Jaskier whispered in a voice bordering on a sob.

Geralt rallied what little strength he had to shake his head stubbornly. “No. N--not you.”

He wished he’d taken longer to kill the mage for the nightmares she’d created in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Yennefer!” Jaskier called, panic evident, “Yennefer, you have to help him.”

The mage hobbled closer, her injuries draining her usual grace. Her eyes flicked between Jaskier and Geralt with pursed lips before she crouched on Geralt’s free side. She pressed a hand against Geralt’s chest and looked into his eyes briefly before telling Jaskier what Geralt already knew--the injuries were too much for her.

“I’m not strong enough for this,” she said softly, “He’s...I have no skill as a healer.”

Jaskier was already shaking his head, fingers clenching in Geralt’s shirt. “No! No, you have to fix him--you have to heal this. He can’t just...he’s got to be okay.” Tears dripped down his cheeks and his voice began to shake. “ _ Please _ , I’ll do anything.  _ Anything _ .”

Geralt tried to open his mouth to try to chase away the panic in Jaskier’s face, but the words felt jumbled in his mouth. His heartbeat, always slow, now thudded sluggishly in his chest. Each breath felt like a battle against time and his own mortality. He blinked slowly, wishing he could protect the bard from the pain he knew was coming. 

Jaskier turned to say something to Yennefer, but Geralt couldn’t hear him over the roar in his ears and the darkness rushing to consume him.

* * *

  
  
  


Waking up was a surprise.

Geralt shifted, waiting for pain but found himself surrounded by warmth instead. He frowned, confused at the sensation and waiting for his mind to piece together the events that must have landed him in a healer’s tent. It was always a surprise not to wake in a field somewhere surrounded by the bloodied remains of his latest hunt. 

Next to him, he heard the sound of someone’s breathing, soft and even with sleep. It was familiar enough that he opened his eyes and knew exactly who he’d find at his bedside.

Jaskier.

The bard was still covered in a truly alarming mixture of blood, dirt and ash from their fight. That in itself was a signal for how worried the man must have been--Jaskier never willingly choose to remain in disgusting clothing. He smiled softly at the thought. Having someone worry for him--having someone  _ love _ him--was still a novel experience. One he would never regret or take for granted.

He shifted closer, reaching out to run a finger over the curve of Jaskier’s cheek--slack with exhaustion--and let himself look his fill in a way he rarely did when they were traveling. The movement was enough to drag Jaskier up from his sleep and he frowned slightly before blinking open his eyes and smiled.

This. This was the moment that settled every bit of nerves Geralt felt when he considered what his feelings for Jaskier could mean for them both. This look of sweet welcome, of relief, of pure, unfettered happiness as soon as he saw Geralt for the first time.

“You’re awake,” Jaskier whispered. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face into the palm of Geralt’s hand and took a shaky breath. This close, Geralt could see the fine tremor that rippled through his body. “You scared me.”

Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s hand until the bard gave in and settled gently on the bed next to him. The last of the anxiety left by their fight melted away at the warm weight of the body curling against him. For a long moment, they were both silent--too busy reveling in the unexpected joy of being alive and whole.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Jaskier said in a voice rough with emotion. 

Geralt smiled faintly. “Hmm.”

Jaskier poked him in his chest gently. “I mean it. I--I can’t survive you dying for me.”

Sobered at the thought, Geralt wrapped his arms around the smaller man and cradled him close. He brushed his lips against his forehead and closed his eyes, breathing past the scent of death and flames to the scent that was all Jaskier.

“I guess we’ll just have to live forever then.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Soft Geralt must be protected at all costs. 
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos give me life! Thank you for reading!


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